MASH
by Oxymoronic Alliteration
Summary: In a state of boredom, Ziva allows herself to get roped into a game with Abby. The results, she finds, are surprising. Written for the Find Your Inner Child Challenge!


Ziva sighed restlessly as she sat with Abby, waiting for the test results from the DNA sample they had gotten from their suspect. Gibbs had told her to wait down in the lab until they had the results, seeing as there was nothing much for her to do at the moment. She had never realized how boring such a task could be until now. "How do you keep your mind occupied while you wait?" she asked Abby.

The Goth girl was hunched over her table, furiously scribbling away on a sheet of paper. "I have my ways," she replied vaguely.

"Such as?"

"MASH," Abby said. She grabbed the paper and walked around the join Ziva on the other end of the table.

"Mash?" Ziva asked. She had never heard of such a thing. "Is this some form of American entertainment?"

"Ziva!" Abby said in surprise. "You never played MASH when you were younger?"

"Not as far as I know."

Abby placed the paper down and Ziva glanced at it. Across the top was written "MASH" in big, bold letters. Beneath that was a list of items such as "Husband," "Job," and "Car," each with three lines under them. "MASH," Abby explained, "is a game in which you try and predict what your life will be like when you grow up."

"But we are already grown up," Ziva countered with a frown. She still didn't understand the idea of the game.

"So? It's still fun!" Abby told her with excitement. "You fill in three items or jobs or names beneath these. Then I run my pencil along side each one until you say stop. Which ever one the pencil lands on when you stop it is what your job will be or who your husband will be."

"I do not understand. How can a piece of paper predict a person's future?"

"It's not supposed to be accurate. It's just a game little girls play when they're in school."

"We are not little girls, Abby, and we are not at school."

Abby groaned in frustration. "You're the one complaining of boredom, Ziva! Now do you want to play, or not?"

"Fine!" the Israeli conceded. Anything was better than sitting and staring at a computer screen, internally wishing for it to ding. "What do I need to do?"

Abby pointed to the word MASH with her pencil. "This represents what kind of home you will have. The M stands for Mansion, the A for Apartment, the S for Shack and the H for House." Ziva nodded her understanding, so Abby continued. "First, you need to pick three possible husbands."

Ziva made a face. "I am in no mood for a husband at the moment, Abby."

"Do you want to play or not, Ziva?"

"Okay…three husbands…."

"And they have to be people you actually know!" Abby warned.

People she knew? How many men did she know who she could actually see herself marrying? "Hm…I do not know of anyone…" she said, hoping to be able to skip that one.

Abby was not so easily swayed. "Okay, then I'll just pick for you. Tony DiNozzo…Timothy McGee…and Jimmy Palmer…" she said aloud as she wrote each name.

"What!" Ziva cried indignantly. "But…"

"Sorry, but you passed up the opportunity to pick your own. Now jobs…"

"I already have a job, Abby."

"Okay, I'll put down Assassin/Mossad Officer. Just pick two more."

"I am not going to leave this business."

"Just pretend like you're a little girl! What did you want to be when you were younger?"

Ziva considered the question. It was true, she hadn't always aspired to be in Mossad, though she'd had an inkling it was where her life was leading her. Like many little girls, she had dreams of being a princess or a ballerina. But those sounded silly, especially the first one. "I…I am not sure…"

"Don't make me pick all your choices, Ziva!"

"I enjoyed dancing," she said. "And singing."

"So Dancer and Singer," Abby said, writing those down. Ziva didn't attempt to stop her. "Car?"

"I am perfectly happy with my car, Abby."

"Mini Cooper. What else?"

"I have always liked Jaguars," she said, "and perhaps Mercedes?"

"And your husbands job?"

Ziva wasn't even sure who of the men on the list would be deemed her husband, so she merely shrugged and said the first three professions she thought of. "Doctor, Lawyer, and Author."

"And what car will he drive?"

Again, Ziva pulled names out of the air, not wanting to waste more time on the question than necessary. "Cadillac, Porsche, and Pick-up Truck."

"Number of children?"

The woman laughed. "How could I possibly hope to guess?" Seeing Abby's look, she sobered up and simply said, "Two…three…seven…"

"Seven? Didn't think you had it in you!" Abby commented with a sly grin. "Color of your wedding dress?"

"Aren't they all white?"

Abby herself had always envisioned a black medieval inspired dress—assuming she were to get married—but she could understand that, with Ziva's religious values, she would be more likely to go the traditional route. "I'll write White, Cream, and Ivory," she said, "just so we have three different choices."

"How many more of these questions are there?" she asked.

"Just one," Abby told her. "Where will you live?"

This was by far the most difficult of the questions for Ziva. Where was her home, after all? Israel or America? "Israel," she said softly as one choice, "or Washington D.C."

"You need a third choice," Abby reminded.

Ziva shrugged. "Silver Springs Maryland," she said, going back to her first apartment when she's moved to America. "And now what happens?"

Abby began tapping her pencil tip along side each of the choices, starting at the top with MASH. "Tell me when to stop," she ordered.

Ziva did as she was told and Abby circled the choice. This went on through each of the sections. Abby refused to let Ziva see the results of her MASH sheet until all questions were answered. The smile which played on the scientists face only made Ziva more and more intrigued.

"And done!" Abby announced with a flourish. She held the sheet up for Ziva to see. "According to this, you will be a Mini Cooper-driving assassin/Mossad officer. You will marry Timothy McGee, a Porsche-driving author, wearing a white colored wedding dress. The two of you will then live in a house in Silver Springs, Maryland with your three children."

The eeriness of it struck Ziva. Her car and profession had been perfectly predicated, as had Timothy's. And in Silver Springs, an area in which they had both lived. She felt a chill roll over her. "That…uh, that…"

"Spooky, huh?" Abby said, also aware of how coincidental the results were. "Maybe you and Tim should go out for drinks tonight," she suggested teasingly. "You know, get a head start on the entire thing?"

Ziva didn't respond to the joke.

A ding from her computer pulled Abby's attention. The results were back.

Ziva returned the bull pen, results in hand and MASH sheet in her pocked. She felt a blush come over her as she passed Tim's desk. She wordlessly handed Gibbs the results ad took a seat behind her own desk. The sheet felt as though it were boring a hole into her pants pocket.

Tim looked up at her and shot her a friendly grin.

Outside, she was the cool and calm Mossad officer.

Inside, Ziva felt just like a little girl again.


End file.
